


Memories in Indian Summer

by justhuman



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angel Book of Days Challenge, F/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-03
Updated: 2003-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhuman/pseuds/justhuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In <i>Life of the Party</i> there were mysterious canisters - what if they contained memories of the things that Angel wanted them to forget? S5 Spoilers through 5.5 "Life of the Party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories in Indian Summer

Memories in Indian Summer

 _But deep within these Indian Summer days, they have reached a  
greater understanding of life and love.  
The shells holding their souls are weaker now,  
but hearts and minds grow vigorous, remembering._  
\--from _The Reunion_ by Rachel Firth

To all outward appearances, nothing had happened. Angel and his shaky band of heroes still owned and operated Wolfram & Hart, Los Angeles Branch. They talked on a regular basis both in the office and at semi-secret locations about the evil staff and the evil corporation and the temptations, but how they weren't going to be corrupted.

Lorne's headaches were lessening the further and further they got from Halloween. There was a suspicion that certain semi-mystical drugs aided this process.

Fred berated her department when things weren't going particularly well, but batted her eyes at Knox. There were several witnesses to hands beneath clothing in the underground garage, like two teenagers out parking.

Spike became more material, and with his new found semi-solid status, he became more useful and irritating at the same time.

Gunn went to the White Room and really, what more could be said about that?

Angel. Angel was Angel, pulling his people together under adverse circumstances. Trying to do the right thing...trying in the only way that Angel understood how--trying so hard that he wouldn't believe that they were drifting away slowly...and one of them, more quickly.

Wesley had been following the plan, the pattern. The steadfast one who did the research and gave the orders when the others actually listened -- which to be fair was more often than not. But then there was the trip to psychic storage on Halloween and the canisters carefully labeled with everyone's name, everyone's but Angel's.

For a long time he sat and stared at it, absently drawing Lewis Carroll references in his head until they slowly morphed the way that metaphor does, and he was Neo choosing between the placebo and the reality-bending counteragent. Opportunity was a difficult thing to pass on, difficult not to try and be the hero, because after all, Wesley concluded, it was what he had always wanted to be.

'Wesley's Memories,' said the canister. 'Drink me,' said the delivery gun as Wesley slid it into his mouth. The trigger was pulled and the red pill went down, down. Slow motion, falling strait to the floor with the doors neatly locked and the glass occluded. Was the reminder really needed about what curiosity had done to the cat?

***

Rising from the floor where he had fallen and writhed for hours, Wesley made his way to the desk, weighing, considering. The wood of the desk was hard and smooth in the setting that had now become all too surreal. Pounding behind his eyes like a jackhammer, a headache was being driven by a combination of anger and disbelief.

Connor. Every memory to do with Connor missing, distorted, rewritten. Compulsively, Wesley's hand went to his throat -- the scar was back. Had it ever been gone? Right now he wasn't completely sure if had vanished or if he had simply stopped noticing it. Would the others notice it? If he walked out of the office right now would Fred or Lorne see it or just bypass it; more importantly, would the employee's of Wolfram & Hart notice?

The memory loss was obviously their doing but Wesley wasn't entirely sure why. Right. Time to be a detective. Angel arrived back at the hotel having defeated Jasmine and Lilah was already there...

Lilah. It was jumping ahead, but she had been conspicuously absent since their tour of the facility. Wesley had last saw her in the lobby where she was telling Angel that it wasn't part of the deal, but he was the boss and there was a limo waiting to take him to see Connor.

What had Angel done; what had he agreed to? Bloody hell, this time he decided not to fire them but to pacify them so they could all work together in some semblance of harmony. Wesley wondered how many different levels of fool he looked for following after Fred over the last few months. It was rather like trying to make it work a second time with an ex - not that they had ever been together. Longing, anticipation--all for nothing, it would always be nothing. And while Wesley knew that he should step away from his personal feelings and get back to the larger issues, he couldn't let go of those hopeless feelings for Fred or those guilty feelings for having forgotten Lilah.

And she had let it happen.

Of course she had. That Wolfram & Hart had been her first priority would never be a surprise, and it shouldn't have been a surprise that she would stick a knife in him, but... But she had wanted him to let go because she was dead. This loss of memory most certainly made him do that, but the price of living in ignorance...was peace...contentment...something verging on happiness?

Wesley would have considered the offer and in many ways he couldn't blame Angel for taking it, especially if it somehow took care of Connor.

Connor. How the world did pivot around that boy. Yes, Connor's happiness would have been part of the _deal_ and there were doubtlessly other broad requests for the health and well being of the members of Angel Investigations, but experience told Wesley this was much more a _shoot first, ask questions never,_ type of decision that Angel was famous for.

The most bitter pill of all was that Angel didn't trust him with this knowledge; didn't rely on Wesley to share the burden. Snorting, Wesley leaned his head back in the chair. Was it that Angel knew him so well or cared for him so much?

And what to do now? How could Wesley possibly live this lie? Then thinking of Gunn's lawyer knowledge, Lorne's lack of sleep, Fred's impending affair with Knox - how could he not? Lord, what about Faith? Was Faith still in prison because in this alternate reality he never broke her out, and what impact might that have had in Sunnydale?

Stop. Think. In this reality the Governor of California had set all the prisoner's free, after they viewed a video taped conference with Jasmine. Fortunately arranging such a minor technological feat in the financial strapped state had taken too much time. Faith decided to take her parole earlier than expected. Drawn by the past she had headed straight to Sunnydale, never having passed through LA.

Why, of all the things that had just been revealed, did this bothered Wesley most? He really wasn't sure. Maybe it was that he knew that he would forgive Angel eventually, that the others throwing caution to the wind, would have happened regardless. But Faith, he worried about.

Dialing the phone, Wesley waited and heard familiar but yet, now foreign ringing sounds.

"Good afternoon, you've reached Mr. Giles office. How may I help you?"

"Yes, this is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce calling from Los Angeles, may I speak with Mr. Giles. The matter has some urgency." They were words to get past the secretary, but Wesley felt that urgency pounding through his blood, and he couldn't stop it. The hold felt unbearably long even though it was only a few moments.

"Hello, this is Giles." Long and nearly forgotten memories welled to the surface--naive days in Sunnydale, being intimidated by the man on the other end of the phone. Freezing momentarily, Wesley stared at the receiver as a flush of deja vu passed through him. This is exactly how he would have felt two summers ago calling Giles.

"Hello, Wesley, are you there?"

Snapping out of it, Wesley cleared his throat. "Yes. I'm terribly sorry about that. Someone needed my signature."

"Of course. My secretary said that your call was urgent."

With a glance around his desk, Wesley was suddenly at a loss at to how to proceed. "I'm afraid that I may have mislead your secretary. I wanted to avoid the polite but extended wait on hold. I hope that I didn't interrupt anything urgent."

There was laughing on the other end of the line. "Anything that you have to say must be more significantly urgent than the training reports on my desk. A world full of new slayers has only brought me mountains of paperwork." There was something that resembled a growl in Giles' voice. "You see, they promoted me."

Returning a good-natured chuckle that he didn't completely feel, Wesley found himself nodding. "Yes, I understand completely. There's something about things becoming larger that disconnect you from...from the things you thought you once knew."

"I would completely agree if it weren't for the fact that my household comes complete with American women of all ages monopolizing the loo, filling the cupboards with fat free snacks, complaining about my books and otherwise ruling my life. Apparently my past has taken up permanent resident status."

"Not _all_ the new slayers are staying with you!"

"Oh god help me, no!" Giles chuckled again. "Buffy, Willow, Dawn and Kennedy are quite sufficient to drive any confirmed bachelorhood to distraction."

"Yes, I'm sure they are, but Faith's not with you?" As he said it, Wesley knew that it was probably to quick, but he needed to get to the point before Giles started asking questions that Wesley was not prepared to answer.

"She was for a short time with Robin Wood; however, the two had a falling out some time ago. Robin remained in England, training new slayers, and Faith returned to America. I thought that she might visit Angel; she spoke often of how he helped her." Something tightened in Wesley's chest.

"Yes, she may have called once, but we lost touch. I was actually hoping to find her because the law department here has arranged the appropriate paperwork to make her parole - more official."

"Ah yes, excellent..." It was five more minutes of polite conversations about books and the losses of the Council before Wesley was turned over to Giles more than capable assistant and given a phone number and an address in New York.

Hanging up the phone, Wesley stared at the information a moment, considering what he would say.

"Wes?"

Tensing in his chair, Wesley had his back to the door. Slowly lifting a hand he adjusted his collar and turned around. "Angel, what can I do for you?"

"Farnsworth. He's one of the old clients, and he's hassling us about some mystical juice we used to give him." Wesley could see the tension etched across angel's muscular frame. This wasn't easy for him, being the CEO of an evil corporation, let alone any corporation. The urge to jump out of his chair and fix things was overwhelming--just as the deja vu on the phone had been earlier.

How powerful was the mindwipe? Was this restoration of memory only a temporary event, and was Wesley sliding back into his appointed place? Like some bad movie where he was emotionally trapped in time two summers ago, unable to make the leap to fall. Or was he now simply unwilling to leap since he had seen both possibilities.

"Uh,Wes..."

"Forgive me, I was trying to place the name. Farnsworth, we provide him with an elixir that eases joint pain an muscle fatigue."

"Wolfram and Heart has the cure for arthritis?" Angel looked incredulous but then hopeful. "That would be good though, right? We just have to give it out to more people." It was in moments like these that Wesley felt needed appreciated, valued. If he had the choice would he just give up the memories?

Standing up, Wesley studied the spines of some of his books. "A demonic form of arthritis and the cure requires certain hard to find ingredients, like knuckles."

"Right, should have known." Wesley couldn't resist a glance as he bit his tongue holding back advice and different approaches to the problem because he was sure that if he opened is mouth all that would come out is, _You stole my life, you bastard!_

A sudden shiver ran down Wesley's spine. Words like that had in the past been previously reserved for his father. Was this so different though, Angel playing God with their lives?

"I'm sure that you'll find a way to handle it, Angel - without killing another client." Angel looked sheepish, and Wesley looked away. "I need to go to New York; there's a rare volume that a dealer refuses to ship, and I'd rather not leave it in the hands of my staff."

"Are you sure, Wes? I need you around here." Not being able to help himself, Wesley looked Angel directly in the eye and read the sincerity there even while his heart started pounding somewhere between fury and devotion.

"Yes, Angel, I know how much you rely on family, but I feel that I need to do this."

Wesley wasn't sure what emotions he read in Angel's face, and god knew that he had no idea what he was revealing with his own. With a look of pride, Wesley wasn't completely sure, Angel turned away, heading for the office door. "Gotcha." Pausing he turned back, giving Wesley a somewhat accessing look. "It's not just relying on family. I need all of you to be safe, together. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to protect each and every one of you."

On another day Wesley would have wondered why that needed to be said. For now, he felt like he was betraying that ideal. Wesley looked away from Angel.

"I know."

***

The plane ride had been protracted and frustrating, filled with phone calls back and forth to LA. For a man attempting to escape a difficult situation, if even for a few days, Wesley expected more solitude. He and Fred had four separate conversations about yet another mystical weapon gone bad. It had ended with her hanging up and a glare from Wesley's row companion about the tone of the conversation.

The conversation with Gunn in the cab had been much the same.

"Wesley, straightening out Faith's paperwork would be much simpler if you would give me about six months to play the system more naturally or if we were forced into a court decision. There are ways to get verdicts out of judges that are more binding than a paperwork trail."

"Yes, and I'm sure you would understand how to manipulate that situation to your advantage." The momentary silence on the other end of the phone told Wesley that he had stepped to far.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I thought we had been all through the need for a legal eagle on our team and how I wasn't going to be wearing black hats anytime soon." The tone was tense and belligerent, reminding Wesley pointedly of the previous year.

"I understand that you're going above and beyond to get things done. It's the methods that I'm concerned with." God, it was so easy to pick a fight, so easy to remember all the venom that had passed between them.

"Like the methods you're asking me to employ right now?" Biting back a retort about playing with fire and _nuclear evil,_ as Fred had put it, Wesley sighed.

"You know I'm talking about the personal price that you're paying for those methods."

"Hey Wes, I know you get paid to do the worrying, but I thing you should pack away that attitude that thinks Charles Gunn doesn't know how to take care of his own shit." His head had started to pound again, feeling the aftereffects of memory blast again. Gunn spoke again before Wesley could reply.

"Yo, dawg, you're my best friend and nothings gonna change that, not this place, not nothin'. When you get back I'm takin' you out somewhere to relax, like we did in the old days, except I'm paying for something better than Red Dog. We on?"

Muscle memory they called it - deja vu of the body. Wesley's hand moved into position for their handshake. "We'll talk when I get back about it."

Gunn's tone was angry again. "I'm sure we will. Your paperwork will be faxed to the hotel by noon tomorrow." Second hang up of the afternoon.

***

Faith's address was a respectable looking brownstone north of Greenwich Village, a Council safe house now converted to slayer residence. The front door was propped open, unsafe in any large city, but not necessarily for a building full of young women that could leave any would be human attacker in a heap of rubble. Avoiding the lower apartments, the slayers and their one Watcher guardian, Wesley made his way to the roof.

Flat and covered in black tar paper, the roof itself sported a small collection of rusted lawn furniture, an empty clothesline and the dried remains of a dozen potted tomatoes, their husks rustling in the never-ending wind. Living in California made one forget the feel of the seasons, changing in another part of the world. The city parks that he had passed on the ride over were filled with a mixture of bare limbed trees and fiery colored leaves.

"Catch your death if you just stand out there." Faith was leaning against a doorway of a rooftop shed, almost defensively, the smoke from her cigarette being carried away by the wind.

"Faith." Words didn't come; Wesley still had no idea what to say. "It's good to see you."

"It is?" Much more an accusation than an actual question, but then she looked thoughtful, debating what she should say. "It's good to see you too." Not the most sincere greeting Wesley had ever received, but there was some effort there. Closing the distance between them, Wesley studied the shed.

"It would seem to me that the Council could do a better job of housing one of its senior slayers."

She shrugged, "Used to confined space, but it is getting a little cold up here. I was gonna pick up some of that window plastic, the kind you shrink with a hair dryer over the windows, keep out the breeze. Enough cold in my life, you know?"

Leaning heavily against the opposite side of the door jam, Wesley watch the smoke curl briefly in the air before dissipating. "I'm very tired of the cold myself. The problem is that you can become used to it and forget how to be comfortable in the warmth." Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, Wesley relaxed a little. "And then someday someone offers you a seat by the fire and you think about turning it down."

"Geez, did Buffy send you, or maybe Dawn, trying to convince me to go back to England?" Crushing out the cigarette on the side of the small structure, Faith walked to the edge of the roof, planting her elbows on the retaining walls looking down the row of quiet brick buildings.

This left Wesley with the much bigger question of what the hell he was doing there in New York. Joining her at the edge of the roof, Wesley adopted her pose, which earned a roll of Faith's eyes. "The only thing I'm very convinced of right now is that you and I find a way to make peace with one another. I suspect it would be easier if the world was in crisis, but I'm afraid we don't have that luxury."

This earned him a thoughtful glance as Faith turned, leaning back against the wall. "You forgiving me."

"You'd have to actually apologize first, and I'm not sure that either of us could take that." Wesley thought that Faith was quite lovely when she smiled.

"Right. There's no quick path to redemption."

"Not for people like us." In another influx of deja vu, Wesley felt the full weight of despair that he came home from the hospital with after losing Connor.

Faith gave a short laugh. "So, what did you steal some paperclips from the office?" She may have gone on, but her smile slowly faded as Faith looked at Wesley's face.

"Something bigger than a paperclip, but I doubt you'd believe me. There have been days that I couldn't remember myself." There was something resembling understanding that passed between them without any words.

"Right. Food, tunes and then maybe you and I find something that needs killing." Faith crossed the roof purposely, pulling a leather jacket from inside the shed. "And Wes, you're buying."

***

Faith ducked effortlessly as Wesley's dagger spiraled past her ear and plunged into the chest of m'fark coming up behind her.

"Admit what? That if we had gone to the little place six blocks from my apartment we would have been facing some classic vamps right now and not sewer demons." There was a high-pitched squeal as Faith rammed a broken board into the second m'fark's throat. Temporarily stalling it, she turned, raising a graceful leg, kicking the knife deeper into the one still coming up behind her. "Yeah, I admit that."

There was a whir of metal as Wesley's sword formed fully out of his wrist device. "I was paying and wanted something more elaborate than a burger and fries. The restaurant was good, was it not?" The third demon, in front of Wesley was attempting to be cagey, looming over Wesley, but evading the sword.

"Well yeah, New York, Italian - hard to go wrong. But you know since we headed all the way to mid-town into Little Brazil, I was kinda expecting guys in tight pants holding swords full of meat."

Grabbing the hilt of the dagger, Faith planted a foot on the demon's chest and pushed.

Wesley pause and glared directly at her, watching the demon out of the corner of his eye. "You ate every piece of calamari out of my pasta dish."

"Wes!"

Plunging the sword into the demon's throat, Wesley never stopped glaring at Faith. "I have good peripheral vision; you weren't sneaky enough."

"Okaaay." Spinning around, Faith slashed the throat of the demon coming up behind her. "I admit, the seafood was great, and I'm sorry that I ordered something plain. However, I'd like to point out that someone was sampling my manicotti when I was coming back up the stairs from the john."

Both of them turned towards the already wounded demon that, taking a hint, took off for the nearest storm drain. Catching his breath, Wesley picked a paper bag out of the top of a trashcan and wiped his blade or demon ichor. "I never said there was anything wrong with the manicotti. It's just for a woman who wanted Brazilian barbecue, you were doing a stunning job on my seafood over angel hair."

"Christ sakes! Why didn't you just order another plate?" Faith wiped the dagger on the demon corpse and stomped over to Wesley, offering it point first.

Reaching out, Wesley grabbed Faith's hand, still wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. Without pausing he pulled her close so that they were nose to nose, the dagger pointed at Wesley's mid-section. On anyone else the grip would have been painful, harsh, and Faith didn't bat an eyelash. He wouldn't have expected her too. "This isn't about dinner."

Faith gave a sudden sharp tug, but Wesley was anticipating that and held on. Not that she couldn't have pushed him off and broken every bone in his body without breaking a sweat, but Wesley knew that Faith had no reason to believe that he had toughened up over the years. This was something that needed showing. Making a show of licking her lips and staring at the roofline, Faith relaxed in Wesley's grip before taking a swing with her free hand. Bringing up the sword, Wesley blocked reasonably well against her wrist with the flat of the blade.

"All right!" Frustrated, Faith broke the hold and stepped back. "I admit it. You were right." Her body language was dramatic and her tone of voice lacked sincerity. "The pear sorbet was good." Smiling, Wesley put away his weapons.

"Worth _hauling your arse_ all the way to mid-town?" Faith relaxed, folding her arms across her chest.

"Maybe. The wrist thing is cool. Did you get that from the evil lawyers?"

"No, I had it made last year when-" It was hard to think of a specific way to put it. There were images in Wesley's head but the words around them were being muddled.

Then Faith was lightly punching his shoulder - lightly for a slayer. "The world couldn't take it if you and me started sharing all at once." There was a small boy's desire in Wesley's chest wanting to go home, to see Angel, to make it all go away.

"We couldn't have that, now could we." Wesley gave her a weak smile.

"Come on, we went to your restaurant. Let me show you my New York."

***

Faith's New York was too loud, too drunk, too stoned and more than a little dangerous. Wesley didn't let that deter him as he paid the cover in bar after bar. Never once did he object as Faith left him standing along the wall with a half-finished beer as she writhed onto the dance floor, pressing against whatever hot body was nearest. She eyed Wesley when it was time to toss a partner across the floor when his hands became too adventurous.

Lilah would have never brought him to a place like this. It was a little too grungy and way too blue collar. But should Lilah have found herself in such a place, she would have used any warm willing body that happened along, taking a special thrill in the fact that Wesley was watching.

So Wesley let it thrill him, let it make his blood pound and travel south, further and further away from his brain where Lilah was becoming harder and harder to remember - not because of the beer or the fact that it was Faith on the floor but because it all was fading quickly. Wesley was very sure that by morning his memories would be gone again. Did they find that the canister was missing from the lab? We're there mages on the Pacific Coast striping each memory out one by one?

So when the barely clad auburn-haired woman ran a hand over the bulge in his jeans, Wesley didn't back off, didn't bat an eye at the stranger. He just took her by the wrist to rub her hand harder against him - also, to check if it was warm and had a pulse.

"You're looking dangerous tonight. _Hot_ and dangerous."

"Would you like me to be?" Wesley's gaze caught Faith's who raised an eyebrow as he led the woman towards the alley door. Her mouth was hot on his scar, and Wesley remembered another red head and a fairytale of a closet and chains. What he remembered more vividly, were things he _didn't_ do with knives and leather straps that he wanted to. Remembered how he could hear her scream in his dreams, something that she never did in reality. He never thought of them as nightmares.

Pushing the woman against the wall, Wesley closed his eyes and pinned both her wrists above her head with one hand. His other went where it wanted, first soft than harsh. His teeth were on her ear when he asked, "How dangerous do you want it?"

"As hard as you'll give it to me if you leave that bitch against the wall, right now." Faith answered from behind Wesley. Slowly he lifted his head and met the inkling of terror in the woman's eyes. It wasn't as strong as the looks that Fred had given him, the looks that make him hide in terror of himself-- a look that aroused him further. And why hadn't Angel taken those memories along with the others?

There was no fear in Faith's eyes but there was the glaze of a little too much alcohol and more than a little lust. The stranger was back in the club almost before Wesley let her go.

"So was it me who brought out the animal in you, Wes"

Slowly shaking his head, Wesley leaned in a little to her fingers lightly tracing his scar.

"No. You started teaching me about how not to be prey; another woman finished the job and left that scar as a reminder. It was a demon that brought out the predator. Strangely, it was another woman who taught me that it wasn't a bad thing."

Faith's fingers were tracing Wesley's ear as he eased centimeters closer. "Brave."

"Braver than you can imagine. Dead now and the memories are fading fast." Faith's breasts brushed against Wesley's shirt, her hand brushed against his still hard cock and her teeth bit against the scar.

Lifting her head momentarily, Faith asked, "Do you want to forget?"

"No- Yes-" Wesley took in a harsh breath, stepping back. "Can't be stopped--magic's involved."

"We could call-" Faith stopped as Wesley shook his head. "What do you want, Wes?"

It was all too clear now that the fading memories were not an allusion. Wesley could see Angel's angry young son but couldn't remember his name any more than he could that of the baby in his arms. Wesley looked at Faith, wondering what it would be like in the morning. What would he remember of this day?

"I want a witness." Pulling out his cell phone, Wesley hit a speed dial number.

"Angel?"

"Wesley, are you alright? I've been trying to call you for hours."

"I'm fine, physically that is." Taking a step closer to Faith, Wesley's fingertips teased lightly over the tight fabric covering the curve of Faith's breast. "I had the ringers on the phone turned off."

"Wes, I know that you've been probably been having some strange memories today-"

"Yes." Wesley's fingers pinched hard but Faith's body didn't twitch, she just bit her lip and threw her head back exposing her throat. It was lovely, Wesley thought. "I know they're going away now. Assuming that you have some control over this process, I have a few demands."

"Wes-"

"I want some memory of being over Fred." Faith raised an eyebrow and mouthed, 'Fred?' "Winifred. We are not remotely meant for each other, Angel, and she would be much happier for it too." Pulling open Faith's jeans, Wesley slid his hand in for a rough caress. Throwing her back against a brick wall, Faith grabbed Wesley's shirtfront and pulled him closer.

"It can be done."

"God, the things I want to remember are so small compared to what I want to forget."

"In another hour or so it'll be much simpler, Wes. It's for the best."

There should be a way to phrase what he wanted, but the words were not coming to Wesley. Suddenly the phone was pulled from his hand.

"Angel? This is Faith." Faith looked pointedly at Wesley's hands that were currently not moving. "I want him to fucking remember that he's not some whipped pussy or anyone's boy--including yours."

Faith's jeans were too tight to do anything properly, so Wesley pushed them down to her knees before moving his lips to her throat. The shuffling of her legs told him that she had stepped out of the confining clothing. As his fingers explored, Faith's hips bucked hard, oversensitive to the light touch.

"Damn-it! Don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. We just spent the day working on making things not-shitty between us and we're not going back, Angel." Faith gasped in a deep breath. "Oh fuck. Listen to me, Angel. You want him back in LA? Not going to be easy when I chain him down tomorrow and try to convince him that he's good Watcher material. Could use a Watcher, you know that, Angel?"

"That's a fucking lie, Faith," Wesley breathed into her ear and for which he received a slap on the back. "Don't tell me I'm lying, Angel. Okay, okay, I admit it. Maybe I don't need a Watcher, but maybe-" Faith glared at Wesley. "Maybe I need a friend who doesn't mind that I may have tortured him. In the past."

Wesley raised an eyebrow and became more aggressive with his fingers. The gasp told him that she hadn't anticipated it; the writhing told him that she liked it. Pulling the phone out of her hand, Wesley sped up the motion of his hand, while pressing his denim clad erection into the hollow of her hip.

"Angel, make sure there's two tickets at the airport tomorrow morning. It's a time for family." Clicking off the phone, Wesley stuffed it in his pocket and leaned down to ravish Faith's mouth with his.

Breathlessly breaking the kiss, Faith glared into Wesley's eyes. "I like New York, not going back to LA."

"Friends, year round sunshine." Wesley's thumb once again slid against Faith's oversensitive skin, sending her six inches up the wall.

"Smog and, and. Shit, Wes, I can't think when you're doing that. Uh, New York has pear sorbet that's worth a walk to midtown." Fast and efficient, Faith had Wesley's pants open.

Removing his hand to sounds of disapproval, Wesley picked Faith up, slammed her into the wall, and then bringing their bodies together. "L. A."

"Fuck that's nice, but geez, Wes, you can't just sell me with sex."

"Wouldn't think of trying." Faith's legs were wrapped tight around Wesley's waist and he was starting to really understand exactly how strong every muscle in a slayer's body was.

"God-damn-it, it's not like I haven't done this before. Not saying you're bad- Oh god!" It didn't matter to Wesley that he was going to be bruised sixteen ways to Sunday in the morning, as he moved faster, intending to mark Faith with the experience as well. "But you're not a fucking, god or anything."

Before Faith could protest more, Wesley captured her mouth with his, allowing himself to ravish the hot depths of her mouth, pausing to suck and bite her lip. Sliding a hand between their bodies, Wesley tormented the oversensitive flesh once again, causing her to roll her head back against the wall.

"New fucking York, oh please. Oh god, Wes, please!" Faith's nails dug into his shoulders as her teeth bit hard into his neck. There was something here that Wesley couldn't remember but couldn't quite forget either. Heavily pressing Faith into the wall, Wesley came with a muffled cry into her shoulder.

Breathing hard, they met the challenge in the other one's eyes. "Not bad," she said.

"You're not so bad yourself. LA."

Faith sighed but didn't move to disengage their bodies. "Wes..."

"It's not about sex or sorbet. It's about family and sometimes we make sacrifices to have one." There was a longing in Faith's eyes that told Wesley that he wouldn't be alone on the plane tomorrow.

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HiddenSky in the Angel Book of Days, Autumn Challenge. Prompt: Wesley's dark side & Conflict between Wesley and the rest of AI. No fluff and het, if character pairing is involvedUhm...I'm not sure what happened here. The requirements specifically asked for "no het" and well, there's some pretty explicit het in here. I hope at the time I checked with the requester and she ok-ed it. If I didn't, my apologies. *headdesk*


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